"But, oh--you must have walked all the way from Brawnton! What will James Coachman say ?" "I wanted a walk," said John, "and I knew you would send to meet me if I let you know.

My luggage is at the station.

James Coachman, as you call him, can fetch that whenever he will." "And I have come to say good-bye," said Sarah, forlornly.
She watched with jealous eyes their greeting, and Lady Mary's obvious pleasure in John's arrival, and half-oblivion of her own familiar little presence.
When Peter had first gone to school, his mother in her loneliness had almost made a _confidante_ of little Sarah, the odd, intelligent child who followed her about so faithfully, and listened so eagerly to those dreamy, half-uttered confidences.

She knew that Lady Mary wept because her boy had left her; but she understood also that when Peter came home for the holidays he brought little joy to his mother.

A self-possessed stripling now walked about the old house, and laid down the law to his mamma--instead of that chubby creature in petticoats who had once been Peter.
Lady Mary had dwelt on the far-off days of Peter's babyhood very tenderly when she was alone with little Sarah, who sat and nursed her doll, and liked very much to listen; she often felt awed, as though some one had died; but she did not connect the story much with the Peter of every day, who went fishing and said girls were rather a nuisance.
Sarah, too, had had her troubles.